


Moment of Weakness

by Sinnykins



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnykins/pseuds/Sinnykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's those little moments where Bro seems just as human as everyone else that make it harder to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment of Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Homestuck fanfic that is pretty lame and probably ooc and was kind of intended to hint towards Stridercest but it's so mild that I didn't feel the need to tag it uwu sorry for the lack of colored pesterlog this is old and I'm kind of too lazy to bother with it, just wanted to get all my fics up here.

Flinching awake seemed like an anti-climactic finish to the terrifying imagery that had been playing out in his dreams. No screams, no crying, no cold sweat – there was just a slow shudder down the length of his spine before his eyelids pried themselves apart. As soon as his vision cleared and focused on his surroundings, everything muted behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, the memories of the nightmare fled and left him feeling more exhausted than before he had passed out in front of his computer.

That’s right, he hadn’t even bothered to pull himself away from his desk; lying down was a fruitless endeavor and would ultimately end in more discomfort than restful sleep.

But there had been another motive behind his decision last night. Bro had left, of course, as he did almost every night, and like always he had given no warning or indication of his return. Hell, sometimes the guy didn’t come home for a couple days in a row. It wasn’t like he really cared what Bro did, anyway – he was a Strider, free to do as he pleased. And yet as the hours had worn on into the early morning, he had come to recognize his extended bought of consciousness as an attempt to catch his guardian returning. It was stupid and pointless…and most likely a sort of game arising from his own boredom.

Looked like he hadn’t won.

Dave gingerly peeled his face off of the keyboard and idly wondered how many square imprints he had dotted across his cheek now. The screen of his monitor was dark, but he figured there was probably some conversation window open with a text box full of one or two repeating letters. Depending on who the lucky person was, he would probably consider sending the message for ironic purposes.

Bodily functions came first, however, and he rose stiffly from his desk chair, his spine popping half a dozen times as he temporarily forced it straight, then slid back into his usual half-slouch, hands automatically hooking on the waistband of his jeans as he sauntered out of the room. As expected, half the keyboard had been firmly pressed into his face and he now looked vaguely reminiscent of a fossil record – if he squinted he thought he might’ve been able to pick out which letter belonged on which key. A splash of cold water didn’t help all that much, but no one was going to see him today, anyway.

His business taken care of, he made to simply return to his room, but something persuaded him to pause on his way and turn on his heel. His steps remained casual, unhurried and unconcerned, his posture (or lackthereof) maintained, but there was a strange sort of apprehension clawing at his chest as he approached the futon in the living room. The place was dim, and he figured it was sometime between six and seven in the morning, but he easily picked his way through wires and puppets until he was just behind his target. He didn’t know what he was expecting, or what masochistic desire he hoped to fulfill by confirming his guardian’s absence. It wasn’t as if he continued to fool himself that Bro actually had any idea of how to raise a child; he also figured the guy didn’t particularly  _want_  to.

So Dave hesitated just far back enough not to be able to peek onto the futon and awkwardly shifted his weight between his feet. But he didn’t particularly care about the result, here. It was probably just some sense of morbid curiosity, another data point in his ongoing experiment to determine just how little Bro actually cared. That was his story and he was sticking with it, he told himself, and that perceived lack of emotional investment was enough to spur him into taking the few lazy steps required to place him up against the back of the futon, shielded eyes locking onto where there should have been relatively empty cushions (stray smuppets didn’t count).

Instead he was met with the prone form of a tall blond man. Judging by his position and the presence of his hat and glasses, Dave figured that the guy had basically toppled over onto the futon, possibly in a drunken stupor. One side of his mouth pulled into an expression approaching a sneer…but to actually call it such would have meant the erroneous assumption that he gave enough of a damn to show disgust with Bro’s behavior. His eyes were in blatant contradiction, however, and flickered back and forth along his guardian’s body, as if unable to determine where was more important to look first. As if every detail needed to be burned into his mind, so that he could desperately cling to this rare moment.

_He’s here, he’s here, quick look at him, remember what he looks like, hold on to this image while you still can…_

It was purely for competitive purposes, mind you. He repeated it to himself a few times until he felt satisfied, and then he allowed himself to slowly walk around to the front of the futon. It was only because it was near impossible to see Bro in such a helpless state, so dead to the world that he couldn’t prevent his little bro from catching him passed out. Really, it was poor sportsmanship on Bro’s part, and Dave couldn’t help imagining the disappointment of hundreds of individuals, if only they knew what this guy was really like.

Parties, clubs, drinking. Going until the wee hours of the morning and coming back to pass out – he wondered if Bro even realized how uncool he looked right now. But it wasn’t the first time he was stuck with a sense of role reversal; hardly thirteen and he was already wondering which of the two of them acted more like a kid.

Seeing Bro as a proper guardian was hard when he was the one carefully coaxing off those dumb pointy anime shades and removing that nondescript gray hat. Without them, Bro looked even more vulnerable and Dave snorted in contempt as his fingertips hesitantly brushed the curve of Bro’s cheek. Not the slightest twitch in response. Pathetic. He set the hat and shades aside and stood there watching his bro sleep, thumbs once more hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, his expression settling into something blank and more befitting an uninterested bystander. This was for bragging rights, that was all. He’d given up comparing his relationship with Bro to his friends and their guardians ages ago. Striders were different. Striders tried to one-up each other, not cuddle and bake each other birthday cakes. And he was okay with that. He liked it better that way. Affection just wasn’t cool, and it wasn’t like he’d want the occasional expression of it from Bro, even it if was.

When his legs started feeling stiff he crept back to his room. At first he moved to his computer, ready to begin another bland day of irony-based joking and shitty webcomics, but the door to his closet caught his eye and he paused with his hand on the back of his desk chair. It took a moment of heavy consideration in which his subconscious duked it out, debating furiously over whether or not it was taking it too far, but eventually he moved towards said closet and crouched down to go through a box of his things.

Bro was still in the same position when he returned to the futon with his camera in one hand and a spare blanket he had hoarded in the other. His hands were shaking as he spread the fabric over his guardian’s body, careful not to disturb him, and he had to repeatedly remind himself that this was for the purpose of rubbing it in Bro’s face just how uncool he’d managed to get today. This was a new low for him, and Dave would have been stupid to pass up the opportunity for a good laugh.

He continued this mantra as he stepped back and lifted the camera. His fingers seemed stiff and uncooperative as he set up the shot, focusing heavily on Bro’s lax face, naked without his ever-present additions. The click of the slide seemed loud and obtrusive in the still morning air and Dave held his breath for a few seconds, as if expecting that to be the final straw, the one thing that would snap his bro awake and end up in a broken camera and plenty of new bruises. But nothing happened. Bro kept on sleeping, further disproving the assumption that he was anything more than human. Dave let out a slow breath and forced a cocky smile despite the butterflies rampaging in his stomach.

“You brought it on yourself, Bro.”

The excuse seemed uncharacteristically empty as he returned to his room.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    GC: STR1111111D3R   
    TG: oh my fucking god   
    GC: WH4T >:?   
    TG: what do you mean what   
    TG: we just got done talking and agreed it would be awesome if you didnt bother me for a while   
    TG: you know like while i guess i grieved over this brutally murdered rad family member or something   
    GC: OH   
    GC: TH4TS R1GHT   
    GC: 1 FORGOT!   
    TG: it was five seconds ago   
    GC: 1 TH1NK TH4T W4S HOURS 4GO FOR M3   
    GC: 1 4M 4 L1TTL3 FOGGY ON 4LL OUR CHRONOLOG1ST1C4L SH3N4N1G4NS 4T TH1S PO1NT...   
    GC: TH3R3 H4S B33N SO MUCH CR4ZY STUFF GO1NG ON H3R3 1 H4V3 LOST TR4CK!   
    TG: so youre officially going nonlinear with me then   
    TG: were just forfeiting all rhyme or reason to this unmitigated clusterfuck is that it   
    GC: D4V3, YOUR 3NT1R3 3X1ST3NC3 1S NONL1N34R   
    GC: DONT B3 SO M3LODR4M4T1C   
    TG: whoops ok in the future ill try not to pitch any sort of dramatics while brooding over the cadavers of slaughtered loved ones   
    GC: D1D YOU LOV3 H1M D4V3?   
    TG: no 

Dave hadn’t yet bothered to move from his spot and still lay sprawled upon the ground. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and a familiar sort of exhaustion strained his eyes. All he really wanted right now was to close them and ignore the blind alien chick asking questions that got too close to breaking the dam holding back an onslaught of emotions. Emotions that he would rather go on pretending he didn’t have. For now he was comfortably numb, aware only of the potential for a breakdown lingering at the very edges of his subconscious. But he didn’t need this shit right now.

 

He temporarily lifted his glasses away from his eyes to give himself a break from the jarring 1337-speak. With his vision no longer blocked, one hand tentatively snuck its way to his pocket, as if simultaneously nervous about disturbing the contents and guilty to have had them in the first place. His fingers gingerly curled around the flat, glossy surface, though his grip became unsteady by the time he had it in front of his face.

 

There, captured on the 2D space was the blissfully unaware face of his sleeping guardian. Vulnerable. Helpless. Unguarded. He refused to look at the still form lying close by, but that small, masochistic portion of his brain still helpfully offered up the comparison between the expression in the picture and the one currently plastered on his bro’s face.

 

His eyes stung a little and his vision went hazy at the edges, but he forced out a breath of air in a sad excuse for a “contemptuous snort”. Dave couldn’t tell if he was having difficulty focusing on the picture because of his damned eyes, or the pathetically uncool tremors shaking his hand.

 

It wasn’t like Bro had even really been a decent guardian.

 

It wasn’t like Bro really cared about him.

 

It wasn’t like  _he_  cared about Bro.

 

The tense upward movement to one side of his mouth was dry and bitter.

 

“You brought it on yourself, Bro,” he murmured softly in hopes that the lack of volume would hide the remorse lacing his tone.


End file.
